


Classifieds

by invincibleironwoman



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invincibleironwoman/pseuds/invincibleironwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot doesn't say much but when he does it's a mouthful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Classifieds

**Author's Note:**

> This contains one or two spoilers for season 4 but if you've seen "The Grave Danger Job", you'll be fine. I took some liberties with the timeline. This is my first time writing for this fandom :)

Its starts with a classified ad for a 2-bedroom apartment. Hardison’s tired of the shoebox he lives in left over from when he was still siphoning money from rich douche bags and trying to keep Nana from questioning his large income. The place on offer is big enough for all of his equipment and close to Nate’s place. He makes the mistake of leaving the ad on Nate’s kitchen counter.

Even realizing this, he’s still surprised when Eliot slaps it down in front him with a gruff, “I want in.”

“You want— you want in? You wanna live with me?”

Phrase it that way and Eliot scrunches his face up. “No, I just want a bigger place. That’s all.”

“But… I’ll live there.” He states dumbly, not appreciating the glare he receives for the reminder.

“I know.”

“You don’t like me.”

Eliot crosses his arms. “I don’t not like you. It’d be great if you’d keep your mouth shut once in a while but I can put up with living with you.” _If all else fails, I can always kill you,_ he muses.

Hardison minimizes the game he’s playing and spins around to face him with a wide grin on his face. “One condition. Say you like me.”

“Hardison.” He growls, stalking closer and to his credit, the hacker’s smile shrinks a bit.

“Just three little words. That’s all.”

“I’ll kill you?”

“That’s-- that’s a contraction but here’s the number.” He sulks for the rest of the day but two weeks later they were scrambling around the apartment building trying to chase Parker out of the vents.

 

~

 

Hardison takes most of the living room with his equipment. He takes the closet with his back ups and nerd memorabilia. He has shelf after shelf of movies and CD’s lining the walls. He takes most of the bathroom somehow but he doesn’t take everything.

Eliot takes the kitchen. He gets the stove, the oven, the island and most of the pantry. He takes everything in the fridge but the drawer full of orange sodas.

It was a full month before he makes anything for Hardison. He’d spent nights watching the man stuff microwaved, frozen or packaged food in his mouth like he could call that “eating”. So one night after he “mistakenly” makes too much for himself, he sets a bowl of pappardelle down next to Hardison’s arm on his desk.

The hacker pulled off his headphones and stared at him. Eliot crossed his arms and made a face like he dared him to say something about it. Eventually, the headphones came back on with a nod of thanks and the bowl was empty at the end of the night.

Hardison took over most of the apartment but Eliot took over the kitchen and breakfast and dinner. Somehow it felt even.

 

~

 

Eliot yells at Hardison for leaving his crap strewn across the living room. Hardison kindly reminds him that these aren’t army barracks and he can leave his stuff anywhere he wants because he lives here. Eliot responds by throwing a limited edition Dr. Manhattan action figure out of their third story window.

Hardison yells at Eliot for rearranging the closets. Eliot kindly reminds him that his system was stupid and not at all convenient and Eliot has every right to rearrange the closets because he’s the one that got buried in the mountain of Lord of the Rings memorabilia and Harry Potter robes at five in the morning when all he’d wanted was an umbrella. Hardison responds by moving some of his collectors' items into his bedroom and filling the hall closet with two hundred, multi-colored, multi-shaped umbrellas rigged to open whenever he opened the door. Scaring the hell out of Eliot the first time he does.

Hardison's always too cold and Eliot's always too warm. Hardison likes the windows closed and Eliot prefers them open. Hardison can't stand the quiet and Eliot doesn't understand how someone can function with constant background noise. Eliot's up with the sun and Hardison doesn't wake before noon when he doesn't have to. 

Eliot plays nothing but country music while he cooks and Hardison complains knowing all the while that if he were really bothered by it, he’d just go somewhere else. He likes being near Eliot when he cooks. He likes spending time in the same room without bickering and grinding his teeth. Plus, sometimes he swears he can tell Eliot likes having him there too. He doesn’t glare as much and his features are softer.

And he hums.

 

~

 

“They broke my hand. I can’t do anything now. I got nothing to add to the team, now. I’m… I’m useless.”

He throws a hand up at the walls of screens in the living room. “I don’t know what else to do. I’m only good at one thing.”

Eliot leaned forward, arms crossed, eyes saying nothing. He just listened. “When Nate called me in _this_ is what he needed me for. This is all I can do. What now? Go back to hacking shitty businesses? Stop doing things that actually help people? Because I can’t be that guy anymore. Useless or not.”

“Shut up.” Eliot snarls, scowl in place.

“What?” And he’s honestly taken aback.

“Shut up, Hardison.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re whining.” He bit his lip like he was holding back from saying more.

“He broke my hand.”

“It’s over and done with; there ain’t nothing we can do about that. ‘Cept wait for it to heal.” He mutters and he sees the argument in Hardison’s eyes but he’ll take anger over whining.

“But—“

“Take your licks and get over it. Move on.”

“Just move on? How exactly do I do that with one hand? If he’s lucky enough to find another hacker, Nate’ll just replace me.”

“That too; you’re jumping to conclusions. Nate’s not gonna replace you because you took a hit during a con.” He can’t picture running cons without Hardison’s snarky voice in his ear reminding them how lucky they were he was on their side. As annoying as he found it to be, it was familiar. And if he was honest, he was hoping he was right to think Nate wouldn’t. Doesn’t really know what he’d do if it ever came to that.

“But I’m no good to him now.” He claimed, arms out like he was giving up and the cast was only more prominent.

“Stop saying that!” He roared and slammed his hands down on either side of Hardison’s shrinking form where he sat at the desk. If possible, his flinch made Eliot more frustrated. “You’re not useless. And you got more talent in one hand that any other computer nerd on the planet. S’why Nate picked you in the first place.”

“Eliot.” He said quietly. He waited for the other man’s breathing to calm. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to move my hand the same way again. I’d replace me.”

Eliot lowered his head, face curtained by his hair and Hardison was almost thankful for that. The older man stood back and he seemed defeated. “We’ll cross that bridge if, _if_ we come to it. And quit actin’ like you’re replaceable.”

Hardison rolled his eyes and glared at the cast on his forearm, the bandages on his hand.

“Without you, sure we’re _good._ But with you, we're better.” He leaned forward and smacked him rather roughly on the head. “So, shut up.”

 

~

 

Eliot doesn’t have visitors. He has friends, some buddies from before but nobody who’d really stop by to say “hello” or share a meal without trying to kill him. Hardison’s mostly the same but occasionally he got phone calls.

Hardison was out helping Parker test a new harness set (because her pout defeated his fear every time) when the phone rang 3 times in a row. He hurried out of the shower, skidding in front of the end table to yell at it and… promptly feel like an asshole.

“What?” He barked and became fully aware that he was dripping water everywhere. It was also freezing out here.

“Who is this?” A woman’s voice asked quietly, a bit wary.

“I live here. Who is this?”

“Stella. Is Alec there?” She started to sound seriously worried which told Eliot who he was probably yelling at.

“He’s out. You must be Nana.” He said and he felt a bit odd to call her that.

“Yes, I am.” She sounded a little vexed. And why shouldn’t she? He’d snapped at her like a bill collector. This was why he didn’t get phone calls.

“I’m really sorry, ma’am. I’m his roommate. I’m… uh…” He couldn’t remember if Hardison had told him what name he’d leased the apartment with.

“Eliot? Alec said you would sound mean.” She laughed a little, the sound rich and warm. “I thought I’d give you the benefit of the doubt but boy did you blow that.”

He surprised himself by laughing along with her. “I apologize. I’m really not such an angry guy… well, not all the time… when it doesn’t call for it.” He smiled when she laughed again.

“I bet you and Alec get along well.”

“He… certainly is a handful, ma’am.”

“Hasn’t shut his mouth since the day I met him. He barely takes breaks to put food in it. It’s why he’s such a string bean.”

“Sounds like him.” He slumped down on the couch. “He tell you about the time we got kicked out of a nursing home?”

“Is it anything like the time he got kicked out of the boy’s locker room?”

 

 

Hardison opened the door to find the strangest sight. Eliot was smiling without his foot on someone’s face. He was also sprawled across the couch in only a towel. “And then the manager kicks us out because he can’t stop going on about his sister’s Botox.”

 _Not the Florida story,_ he groused. He stood in front of the couch, kicked Eliot’s foot and mouthed “Who’s that?”

Eliot spared him a glance, eyes bright with amusement. “I know. That sounds like him, too. He’s back now so I’m gonna have to let you go… it was very nice meeting you, too, ma’am. Don’t be a stranger.” He hands over the phone and stands up. As he stretches, he sneaks a look at the clock. He’d been on the phone for half an hour.

Hardison was staring at him, dumbstruck. “You’ve been talking to Nana?”

“She’s a very nice lady.” He shrugged and stalks back to the bathroom. He chuckles at the accusatory tone in Hardison’s voice.

“You’ve been talking to Eliot?”

 

~

 

Roger Smart was as eager as rookies come. The moment Eliot and Hardison came bounding up the walkway to the house he was watching he was putty in their hands. He doesn’t question their lie about the house being a crime scene at all. He crawls on his hands and knees searching for evidence and when he comes up with a twig, he races right over. Eliot has no idea why Hardison insists on buttering up the officers that end up working alongside them. It was a twig for God’s sake and Hardison had acted like he’d made the first electronic mail.

“Good work. You may have just cracked this case wide open.” He claimed and pet the young man on the back. The eager grin on his fresh face was practically lifted from an episode of Leave It to Beaver. Seriously, he actually shook with pride.

“Really? Thanks, sir!” He scratched the back of head. “To tell you the truth, I usually work the computers. I’m covering for a buddy of mine. His father’s sick.” He babbled almost as much as Hardison.

“Really?” Hardison pulled out his fake business card and handed it to him. And acted like he didn’t see the kid drop it twice before managing to put it in his pocket. “Give us a call if you come up with anything else.”

“Can I call you even if I don’t have anything?” He chokes at the confused look he gets and tries to clarify. “I mean, I’m new and I could use all the help I can get.”

Instead of giving him a disproving glare and stalking off like Eliot would’ve, Hardison acts like it was the most normal request he’d ever heard. “Sure. Anytime.”

They shuffled out of the house and Eliot bumped him with his shoulder. “You made that kid’s day. He was wetting himself.” Hardison smiled but didn’t say anything. “He’s gonna call you.”

“And I’ll answer. He’s not so bad.”

 

 

And call he did. Eliot set a plate of mushroom risotto down in front of him as he talked the kid through how to do the most thorough background check that ever existed. He was patient and his voice was steady and calm, making Eliot wonder what kind of leader he’d be if he ever got to run a con.

When he hung up he was smiling until a deep frown came over him. “What?” Eliot sat up straighter, concerned.

“I just helped him catch a bad guy.” He leaned his chin into his hand. “I’m officially helping the good guys. I feel dirty.”

Eliot laughed and slumped down again. “Okay.”

He shrugged a bit and then beamed. “I like him, though. He listens to me.”

“He adores you.”

“He values my input.”

“He has a crush.”

“He respects me.” He insisted through a bite of Eliot’s food. He did his best not to moan like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted but he failed.

“A crush, Hardison.” He argued and laughed when Hardison glares at him.

“Roger looks up to me.” He pointed at him with his fork. “Don’t cheapen this.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not out to devalue your little lapdog.” He chewed for a bit before asking, “Why do you always treat the cops and Feds like royalty, anyway?”

Staring down at his plate, he put the words together in a way he thought wouldn’t make Eliot make fun of him. “I don’t know. They’re not all bad.” He pushed his food around his plate. “The one that took me to Nana’s wasn’t that bad. He even took me out for ice cream once or twice. They’re not all like him but I like to think they could be. Give them the benefit of the doubt. Besides, a little kindness don’t hurt anyone.”

Eliot didn’t really know what to say to that so he took another bite of his food.

 

~

 

Working with Hardison had changed somewhat. They still fought like Time Lords and Daleks but not out of any real place of anger. They read each other better now and it was just easier to bounce ideas off of each other when he could pound down Eliot’s door and annoy him to sleep. He’d woken up more times than he could to Hardison sprawled across the foot of his bed with a tablet stuck to his cheek.

Even their newfound chemistry couldn’t stop the chain of events that lead to Hardison getting buried alive. They get him back and Eliot tugs him into a hug before Nate even gets close but Hardison’s still pretty freaked. He doesn’t say a word to Eliot and instead he bugs the entire apartment with cameras. Eliot’s pretty annoyed when he finds one in plain sight in the upper left corner of his bedroom. But he figures Hardison didn’t try to hide it out of some odd askance of permission.

And he seems calmer afterwards so Eliot allows it.

 

~

 

Hardison doesn’t like how quickly Eliot and Nana become friends. She calls for him almost as often as she calls for her own son. They trade recipes and stories. None about what he and Eliot do for a living but Eliot still finds acceptable one’s to tell her. Every time he hangs up he does this weird hand dance like he wants to call her back and tell her something else.

He’s doing the hand dance now but he has that familiar scowl on his face. Hardison opens a new window and asks about it. Eliot’s glowering in the corner of his eye like he wants to punch something.

“Some asshole from the city’s been bothering her.” He blurts, cracking his knuckles and storming in a circle.

“I know.” Hardison admits, setting his bag down on the counter as he starts running checks on their old cases. Eliot’s shadow hovers over him from behind.

“You know? What are we going to do about this?” He sounds almost insulted that Hardison hadn’t mentioned it.

“Eliot, this is some jerk with a clip board. The only excitement he gets out of his day is telling sexagenarians that their trees are growing into an alley.”

“Hardison.” Eliot growls.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll give his computer a virus and send a shipment of porn mags to his office.” He started to do just that when a hand landed on his shoulder, burning through the cotton of his tee-shirt.

“Thanks. You’re a good kid.”

“He says as I break a few laws.” He mutters but the smack to the head doesn’t hurt at all.

 

~

 

Eliot gets tied up with recon and asks Hardison to greet one of his old service friends at the apartment. Kyle is quiet and sultry and every bit as alluring as he thinks he is. And he has Hardison on his knees sucking him down in no time at all. He must’ve been more hard up for it than he’d realized because he nearly comes just taking Kyle into his mouth.

They make it to his bedroom somehow, knocking over the end table and not caring enough to pick it up. Kyle gets him on his hands and knees on the bed, strong, large hands on his lower back and lining them up. They’re quiet and hushed and Hardison would expect nothing less from something that seems so _wrong_. It’s quick and filthy and they never even make it to getting fully undressed. They’re lying side by side trying to catch their breath when the front door opens.

Eliot looks up to see them running out of Hardison’s room disheveled and panting. Hardison’s explaining some computer programming geek speak and Kyle’s nodding like his polo’s not inside out. His face his flushed, lips bruised and he won’t meet Eliot’s eyes. He watches the floor as he asks, “You ready to go?”

And Eliot turns back around and opens the door. He treats Kyle like his old service buddy from out of town. Like he hadn’t fucked his roommate within two hours of meeting him.

He doesn’t treat Hardison the same at all.

 

~

 

It’s not like everything changes. Like Eliot suddenly stops cooking dinner for him or yells at him for cluttering the bathroom floor with his Captain America bath towels. He just notices things and understands others more now.

He notices the way Hardison fills out his graphic tees. How he somehow managed his long, lean muscles when he spent most hours out of the day in front of a keyboard. He notices the way he flirts with Parker but he never puts any real heat behind it. Or he notices the way he never tells Nana anything concrete about his love life, how he thinks she’s never noticed that.

He starts to wonder if Hardison likes comic book characters because they’re essentially well cut men in skin-tight clothing. If he found Han Solo attractive. If he’d ever really sat down to figure out just what he was; if he’d ever labeled it. If he thought it mattered. If he knows that the cameras in his room caught whatever _didn’t_ happen with Kyle. If he’d planned it that way. If he’d ever watched it and—

“Eliot? You okay?” Hardison’s blinking at him with his fork halfway to his mouth. “You’re flushed.”

And he was though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He notices how Hardison frowns at him before returning to his food. He can’t stop wondering what he’d looked like when Kyle’d stretched him open. If he’d finally shut up or if he’d spoken the entire time. What his voice had sounded like, hoarse and heavy or deep and full, when he’d come.

He notices the swell of Hardison’s bottom lip, the smooth dark skin of the curve of his neck, the hidden strength of his wrists and he loses his appetite. Because if he’d noticed then Kyle had too.

 

~

 

Parker is the only one to really ask about it. She comes over while Sophie inexplicably kicks Hardison’s ass at Wii Boxing. She’s subtle as usual, flopping down on the couch with an apple and a brazen “Who pissed in Eliot’s cereal this morning?”

Hardison drops his arms, and Sophie knocks him out. He was losing anyway. She switched to Tennis and he’s a bit grateful because he’s better at it and it’ll keep him occupied. Eliot had come home an hour ago and greeted Sophie with a grin and then left for his room, ignoring Hardison completely. It came out of nowhere really and Hardison’s not sure what he did. Eliot bitched at him for a lot of things and as far as he knows, it could’ve been whatever stupid risk he took during the last con that almost got him killed. Still, Eliot’s civil at work and silent at home. He doesn’t eat dinner with him anymore but he leaves solemn plates full of food on the counter for him.

Just because he no longer likes Hardison doesn’t mean he’ll let him go back to eating junk again. It’d be endearing if it didn’t piss him off.

“He’s mad at me.” He says and Sophie gives him a soft smile before kicking his ass in the first game. His character is crying and Sophie seems really pleased with it. He thinks maybe she plays with that goal in mind.

“Why?” Parker looks up at him with wide eyes and she always knows when he’s lying. “What’d you do?”

“How do you know its Hardison’s fault?” Sophie asks but the support is ruined by the peppy cheer she gives when she wins again. “I think I’m getting really good at this! Or you’re just really bad at it.”

Parker’s thinking about her answer and taking a big bite of the apple. Somehow she manages to look childlike and murderous all at the same time. “Because when it’s just Eliot being an ass Hardison won’t shut up. Now he just takes it. And Eliot won’t talk to him.”

“He used to ignore him completely.” Sophie added.

“Yeah but he’s not ignoring him. He goes out of his way to glare at him.” She cocked her head to the side and smiled brilliantly. “It’s kind of sweet actually.”

“Sweet?”

“He wants you to know that he’s mad at you.” Sophie explains as she takes a seat next to Parker on the couch. “He’d just treat you like wallpaper if he didn’t.”

Shrugging, Hardison grumbles “A lot of good that does me when I don’t even know why he’s upset.”

Parker shook a finger at him with grinning with a lot of teeth. “Ah, ah, ah. He’s _mad_. Angry, infuriated, vindictive, _bloodthirsty_ …”

Sophie pets her on the head carefully before giving him a pointed look. “You could try asking.”

 

~

 

Roger Smart wouldn’t shut up long enough for Eliot to tell him that Hardison wasn’t home. It made the one sentence he managed to get in sound overly aggressive and inexplicably rude. “I told you he ain’t home!”

“Oh! Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll—I’ll call him back?” Came his meek voice in response and Eliot felt like a total dick. He sounded like he was going to start crying as soon as he got off the phone.

“Look… what do you need, Roger?” He asked, forcing his tone to sound neutral and less murderous.

Apparently all was forgiven in a matter of seconds because he started right back up again. “We got this murder case. The victim was beaten to death with a blunt object and we’ve got it narrowed down to a city meter reader and a high school gym teacher and we can’t figure out which of them did it. They were both there at the same time of the murder and they don’t even know each other. And if I can’t figure this out then I’m gonna get yelled at and—“

“Speak slower.” He commanded and settled back on the couch trying to parse out the important parts of Roger’s wall of speech.

 

 

Hardison opened the door a little after eleven at night to see Eliot asleep on the couch with the phone in hand. He didn’t bother trying to quietly get it from him and sure enough, Eliot jolted awake in seconds.

He nodded at the phone as Hardison took it. “S’Roger. Needed help with a case. Told him,” he yawned, “The guy was bludgeoned to death. Needed to be the gym teacher with a baseball bat. Only one with enough strength to do it.”

“I’m a little disturbed by how matter of fact you sound.” He pulled Eliot up from the couch and steered him towards his bedroom. “Come on, big guy. Let’s go be creepy in here.”

“He’s not bad. Roger. He’ll be a decent cop.” He smiles tiredly and Hardison ignores the odd twinge of fondness in his stomach. He must be really tired if he’s forgotten to be angry with him and Hardison tries to enjoy it while it lasts. “He guessed a crow bar. Rookie mistake.”

 

~

 

Hardison pulls up Eliot’s camera feed one night to make sure he isn’t doing something stupid like stomach crunches with bruised ribs when he encounters something else entirely.

It’s dark but he can clearly see Eliot, back arched, hair strewn over his pillow as he bucks into the tight hand gripping his cock. It’s muted but the hand clasped over his mouth probably killed most of the sounds he was making. He writhes, hips snapping up on a particular sinister twist of his wrist. He’s moving faster now, desperate for it in a way that Hardison’s never seen from him. His mouth twists with it, a glint of teeth and he’s coming, covering his chest with it and Hardison’s leaping up from his desk, closing the feed.

He feels guilty; like some creepy voyeur. He didn’t put the cameras up for this purpose. Not at all. He should’ve known this could happen, should’ve figured a way around it. He should apologize but somehow he thinks that would make it worse.

He feels bad and dirty and _wrong_ but he’s so turned on he can barely breathe.

 

~

 

It’s a tentative balance they slip into. Over time they start to feel a bit silly and Eliot starts to think he’s not really being fair so things change but not necessarily for the better. They avoid each other by not avoiding each other. Eliot’s frustrated and sick of wondering what Hardison looked like when he came and Hardison’s sick with guilt for just the opposite. It would’ve been less awkward if they took some time apart. Instead of forcing themselves to spend time together; more time than they would’ve spent had they not been overcompensating. Which lead to Hardison suggesting that Eliot teach him how to cook something basic. So, they end up making an apple pie.

Eliot puts him in charge of slicing the apples while he makes the crust. They’re surrounded by knives and other utensils that could totally be used as murder weapons. So he can’t fathom why Hardison chose this moment to ask, “You seen Kyle lately?”

Eliot spares him an accusatory glare before returning to his dough with a little more force than it called for. “No, why?”

“No reason.” And he wasn’t even sure what fire he was playing with here. Did he want Eliot to know what he’d done because he felt bad about it? Did he want his approval? Permission to do it again?

A hand slammed down on the counter, missing the dough completely. “You had a reason. Spit it out.” He watched Hardison stammer over his words and flushed bright red, frustrated. “You think I don’t know what you did? His shirt was inside out; your fly was down.”

The hacker blinked at him, unsure of what he could possibly say to wipe that glare from Eliot’s face. “I’m… I’m sorry?”

“No you’re not. You’re anything but sorry.” He flattened the dough into the pie pan and tried not to let this get uglier than it was. “You’re proud.”

“I’m not—“

“Yes you are! You’re proud that you fucked him and got away with it. Like that doesn’t show just how _easy_ you are. How _desperate_.” He sneered and he hated the way the twisted part of him craved the sight Hardison frozen there frightened of him; the part of him that relished in the hurt look on his face. “Go ahead and play your game but don’t try to pretend it’s anything else.”

Hardison was trying to muster the nerve to say something, _anything_ when he felt a sudden sharp, burning pain like a whip in his palm.

Eliot ran an annoyed hand through his hair, “Damn it, Hardison.” He snatched a clean dish towel and pressed it to his hand. Dazed, Hardison looked down to see a flash of blood on the cutting tray. _Huh, that’s why I don’t cook_.

He moves to take over holding pressure but Eliot’s having none of it. He stares down at the scarred hand covering his own, the one he’d broken months ago. He thinks Eliot should just hit him and get it over with.

He knows Eliot doesn’t because then he’d actually _hurt_ him.

 

~

 

It’s a full month before Eliot suggests they go fishing. He asks for the “easy” roles in the con and doesn’t that sting? Still, on the drive there Hardison starts to feel the excitement. Just having Eliot hold a conversation with him in a civil tone is nice. So of course they get snatched by some anti-government wack jobs.

Eliot comes out with a newfound respect for Hardison’s sense of duty and valor. How he’d never considered getting on that train once he knew there was more to be stopped. How he’d never once doubted Eliot having his back.

Hardison comes out of it wondering just how much of Nate had rubbed off on him. Eliot had tried to get him on the train because that was the only way he’d pictured them coming out alive. And he’d ignored that. He couldn’t fathom knowingly letting the wack jobs get away with it; even before he had a viable plan. He doesn’t know when he stopped doing things “good guys” do and started _being_ one of those “good guys”. He’s stuck on this when Eliot slumps down next to him on the couch with an ice pack.

“What’s up? We kicked ass back there.” He was still running on adrenaline; he was flushed with it and shaking. This was as close as he got to unabashed contentment. He seemed almost happy.

Hardison takes a moment before saying “I couldn’t get on the train.” As if that should explain everything.

“Huh?”

“I couldn’t get on the train.” He slumps back into the couch. “We could’ve died.”

“That’s always a possibility.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “You did the right thing.”

Hardison turned to face him. “That’s it exactly. I did the ‘right’ thing. I’m a criminal; that’s what I do but I’ve been acting like I’m some kind of hero.” Eliot starts to laugh but he sees that this is seriously bothering him. “I almost died today trying to be some kind of hero. Almost took you with me.”

“Maybe all those comic books are rubbing off on you.”

The corner of his mouth quirked in a glimmer of a smile. His eyes were unsure, questioning and asking things Eliot was sure he didn’t want to answer. “I don‘t know who I am anymore.”

Eliot just watched him for a moment with a sidelong, considering glance. “You’re a hacker. And a computer geek.” He smiles at the pointed glare he got and went on. “You’re not a criminal. Not really. I don’t think you ever were. You care about people; you get off on helping them. Even if it’s just by helping a bunch of thieves run a con.”

Hardison sat there watching the ice pack melt in his hand. He twists his mouth a bit, dissatisfied but he gives an Eliot nod. “Thanks for having my back.”

“Anytime.”

“I know it couldn’t have been easy.” It was the only time he’d brought up the fight they had and the surprise on Eliot’s face was expected. The frown was not.

Instead of ruining their momentary truce, Eliot flushed with apology. “About that: I’m sorry. I didn’t have a right to say any of that to you.”

“You were right.”

“No. I wasn’t.” He sets the ice pack in Hardison’s hand and stands. “You should ice your shoulder.”

 

~

 

Things between them right themselves almost overnight. Hardison’s not one to hold a grudge and Eliot can’t seem to stay mad at him anyway. Plus he misses the steady stream of nerd babble in his ear while he cooks dinner. The extended silence after told him just how amazing his food tasted. They’re back to late night debates about how they could’ve done things better on their last con when Eliot looks up at the now empty upper corner of his room.

“When did you take the camera down?” He points at the corner and sees Hardison stare at his tablet inconspicuously.

“A while ago. I’m not so paranoid now, anyway. Really. I mean I’ve stopped picturing all the ways someone could break in and kill me on my way to the bathroom in the middle of night and everything.”

“We are so different.” Eliot sighs, earning a smile.

“Why’d you let me keep it, anyway?”

Eliot scratches at the back of his neck and tilts his head to the side. “Eh, it made you feel safe. And this is your place too.”

“But it’s your room. Your space. You deserve privacy and I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause and Eliot turns beet red, lowering his head and letting his hair hide his face. A moment when both of them realize that Eliot knows what happened and Hardison _knows_ that Eliot knows. And instead of kicking him off the bed and out of his room, he’s embarrassed. _He’s_ embarrassed.

“I didn’t realize… I got used to it being there.” He stutters and feels his heart beating in overdrive. He doesn’t know if he’s more embarrassed that Hardison saw or that he was actually caught off guard by something he’d seen _literally_ every morning.

Hardison gives a half-laugh, half-cough and adds “I know, man. I get it. It’s not like I thought you did it on purpose.”

And just like that the awkwardness is back.

 

~

 

Kyle calls and Hardison answers. He’s not sure of the etiquette in this situation but he’s polite and not at all overly friendly. The conversation veers to his last visit, how could it not?

He tops it with “I might be headed your way next week.”

And all Hardison can manage it a stilted “That’s cool.” He tries to think of more to say when Eliot comes home and stares at him in a warm, genuinely curious way and he starts to feel guilty for some silly, unknown reason.

He practically chucks the phone at Eliot’s face and of course he catches it like he knew it was coming. He watches him greet Kyle with a smile that doesn’t look at all forced.

Later he makes Hardison’s favorite, papardelle and carries on a conversation like Kyle had never been at the center of the longest fight they’d ever had.

It’s unnerving.

 

~

 

Nana comes to visit. Hardison opens the door to hear the two laughing in the kitchen. Eliot’s wearing an apron that’s suspiciously similar to Nana’s. They’re moving around the kitchen like well-oiled machines and the kitchen smells amazing.

They toss him a greeting but promptly ignore him immediately after. He sits at the table and watches them cook. It’s the first time he’s seen Eliot smile and laugh openly in a long time with anyone that wasn’t him or Parker and Sophie. Instead of giving in to the twinge of jealousy, he feels glad. It looks good on Eliot. It looks good so see Nana teaching again. He could sit here forever watching these important people in his life telling embarrassing stories about him.

Something must be seriously wrong with him.

 

 

Eliot lets Nana get away with everything. She convinces him to paint his bedroom a light blue. One that reminds him of the skies in Indiana before he strapped a gun to his waist. She buys him a few pictures for the walls and a throw rug. She buys him lighter curtains and scolds him for buying thick, black, sun-cancelling frocks in the first place. Its warmer when she’s finished and he can’t find it in him to hate the changes. She grins smugly and so much like Hardison it’s startling.

She also kicks Hardison’s ass at Wii, much to Eliot’s amusement. They take her out to dinner the night before she has to leave and it feels like she’s been living with them forever. She’s not a particularly large woman but she fills every room she’s in with a voice like warm honey and a sense of humor that’d make the surliest man crack a smile. She’s grand in every sense of the word and humble all the same. Eliot sees so much of her in Hardison and starts to wonder how he’d lucked into meeting this amazing woman.

She smacks Hardison’s arm when he snatches the check from her. He pays with a black credit card and he doesn’t brag about it either because Nana would have none of it or because he doesn’t want her to question where the money came from. She doesn’t know much about what they do. She’d figured out that they work together with three other people and that they have to travel a lot. She assumed that it had something to do with the government based on the lengths they went to keeping it a secret.

Eliot goes to bed stuck on how incredibly sad it is that for all that she knows about how Hardison turned out, she’ll never know just how remarkable he is. And how he’ll never be able to tell her.

 

 

Nana sits him down at the table early the morning she has to fly back. She reaches across the table and takes his hand. “You seem happy, Alec. More than I’ve seen you look in a while.”

“I am.” He doesn’t even try to keep the grin off his face. He doesn’t understand why she frowns at him.

They sit there in the quiet and her expression doesn’t change. “He’s a very nice man but you’re just a boy.” Hardison’s eyes widen as he realizes she has the complete wrong idea about them. Granted she had somewhat the right idea about _him_ but she was so wrong about Eliot it was almost comical.

“We’re not—I promise you we’re not…” he didn’t know how to finish that sentence. “Together” felt like a lie and “dating” tasted sour. “A couple” was just an idea he’d never associated with Eliot and _anyone_ period. “A… thing.” He settles on eloquently and Nana smiles knowingly as if she knew he’d struggled.

“He’s kind and respectful and strong-willed, much like you. But I get the feeling he’s hiding something. What that is, I don’t know, but for your sake I hope it’s nothing _bad_.” She warned, smoothing her fingers over the back of his hand.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise.” It sounded empty to his ears. Because every time his past had come up, Eliot got this look on his face like just talking about it would somehow taint anyone listening.

“You’re quite possibly the brightest boy I’ve ever met but you’ve spent most of your days behind a computer screen. You don’t always see what’s right in front of you.”

“What can’t I see? He’s my friend and he’s good. That’s all.”

She grins like she caught him in a lie. “He adores you, baby. He won’t say so but the stories he tells are all about how smart you are or how brave. How you’ve turned into a great man almost all on your own. Sometimes I think he’s more proud of you than I am.” Her face falls a bit. “He’s enthralled with you. He… he loves you.”

“You don’t get it—I don’t think--- he’s my _friend_.”

She conceded his argument and reiterated her point. “He’s hiding something.” She watched him for the flash of understanding in his eyes and that was enough for her. “Even so, I trust him with you. I trust that he’ll protect you.”

“From all those things I can’t see?” He asks sarcastically and receives a pinch for it.

“From all the ones that you won’t.” She looks as if she’s going to say more when Eliot exits his bedroom looking bedraggled and yawning. Hardison wants to come at him with a brush but he knows he’d get yelled at for even thinking about it. He’s comforted in knowing Eliot had _slept_ last night since he’d been getting two hours at the most a while ago. He has a healthy glow about him and the sleepy smile he greets them with tugs strangely at his stomach.

He returns to Nana to see she’s watching him stare with a smug look on her face. He tries not to say something stupid and he sits up straighter when he realizes that he’d made this observation nearly every morning for the past month and apparently his reaction was noticeable. And Eliot had never said anything.

 

 

They take her to the airport where Eliot helps her check her bag. She gives him a kiss on the cheek and stares him down. Not that he’d ever admit it but it’s intimidating and just a bit frightening.

“Everyone’s allowed their secrets but if you ever let one of them hurt Alec, I’m coming after you.”

He doesn’t really know what to say to that, especially since his secrets had already come pretty close to doing just that. But he promises. “I won’t, ma’am. I’ll do my best.”

She slaps him lightly on the cheek with a warm look and he feels like he’s been found out for a secret he didn’t even realize he had. “I know you will. You’re a good man. Don’t you _ever_ let anyone try to tell you differently. You’re good here,” she taps him in the center of his chest. With a soft smile, she adds, “I know you don’t think so.”

He swallows thickly but shakes his head.

They say goodbye and promise to talk as soon as she lands. They run a week long con and crash out on the couch as soon as they get back.

Nothing changes right away but it doesn’t really need to.

 

~

 

It starts with lasagna. Or an attempt at one. Eliot’s sitting at their table when a half burned… thing is placed in front of him. He tries not to view it as a threat but he can’t find any pleasant expression to treat it with. He looks up at Hardison’s apologetic expression and has the weirdest need to make it disappear.

“It’s… hot.” He says and he’s _trying_. He sighs with relief when he earns a small chuckle.

“Yes. It definitely is that.” He shrugs, leaning back where he stands next to Eliot’s chair. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“This seems really mean.” He says before he can stop himself.

Hardison blinks at him for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing. Eliot tries to keep a straight face but it feels so much better to laugh with him. After all, Hardison’s eyes are bright and amused and when had he ever been able to resist that.

“I tried. I really did. I looked up a recipe online and then I got in an argument with some idiot in Poughkeepsie on a forum and I kind of forgot?”

“S’okay.” He’s fully aware of how much he must be giving away with the grin on his face. He thinks he could put Roger to shame with the stomach-turning eagerness he feels right now. “Really. It’s… nice that you thought to try.”

“It’s just that Roger called today, for you this time and Nana said something to me when she was here. And she calls for you too.” He babbles and he knows he’s all over the place with this explanation. “We do what we do and every time we make it back here I feel lucky. Like lucky that I get to do something that helps people; that we make it back at all most days. That you care enough to feed me. I’m so fucking lucky and I keep waking up wondering if I did something right to deserve it.”

And Eliot doesn’t say much, makes a point not to. All these _words_ are making him itch. He sort of wants to shut Hardison up but he doesn’t know when it stopped being okay to scare him quiet.

“But I never feel lucky around you.”

Affronted, Eliot bites out a sarcastic “Thanks.”

“Let me finish. I don’t feel lucky because you make sure I know that I deserve to be here. You tell me I’m smart and useful and—and _good_. And I had to earn just being your friend. I had to earn getting you to like me.” He smiles again and Eliot’s struck with how beautiful it is. “You _hated_ me.”

Eliot gapes for a minute, trying to find a way to argue against it. “I didn’t _hate_ you. I just… didn’t like being in the same room with you most times.”

“You hated me but I earned being your friend.” He pushes the plate of lasagna further away. “And now I’m trying to earn a chance… I guess.”

“For what?”

Hardison takes a deep breath, steels himself to take a few hesitant steps forward. He chews at his lip and straddles Eliot’s chair and lowers himself slow enough that Eliot can stop him if he wants to but not slow enough to second guess himself entirely. “I want to see if this can work.” He carefully places his forearms across Eliot’s shoulders, wary but trying to maintain the confidence that got him here.

Eliot’s eyes widen and he freezes for a moment, a split second of indecision. Long enough for him to decide that he’d be stupid to think this wouldn’t affect the way they worked together. But in retrospect the fight they’d had as friends had almost ruined them too. There was something about their relationship that was both easy and incredibly complicated. Always had been.

This, if he decided to have this, would be no different. So really, the choice was simple.

He lifted steady hands and let them rest carefully on Hardison’s waist, feeling how warm and thin, bony really, he was. He was smaller than Eliot in just about every way. Taller, though and never let him forget it. He smiles a bit at the thought and almost fails to notice that Hardison’s shaking like a leaf.

He’s nervous and when he gets nervous he talks. “I’m not sure if you’re sure about this. It could be a really bad idea. I get those too, you know. Like when I decided to try to build a voice activated shower because who really needs those? And I almost electrocuted myself before I realized it was stupid. And I get that this could make living together really awkward and how many times in real life does a cheesy speech with embarrassing declarations really get someone laid? Like give me a ratio. I’m not Meg Ryan; this isn’t a rom-com. This is usually the point when Nate gives me a pat on the back and tells me to shut up. And you growl because—“ Eliot leans forward and fits their mouths together. It’s sweet—too sweet for his liking and he tongues Hardison’s mouth open and dirties it up. He sucks at Hardison’s mouth like he’s starved for it and he is. He pulls back too soon and somehow Hardison picks up right where he left off. “You’re really good at the growling thing.”

Eliot’s watching him carefully to see if he’s changed his mind. “You never stop talking, huh?”

“I do. I sometimes do.” He insists, unconsciously tracing circles into Eliot’s back. He gets yanked closer into Eliot’s chest, weight finally resting fully on him now. It’s tight and so much more urgent. He can’t see anything outside of the heated gaze drinking him in. They’re kissing again, one of Eliot’s hands at the back of his head. It’s like second nature to dip his hips down and the answering moan encourages him to keep going. He’s not perfect at it and Eliot has to help him, his hands guiding him until it’s something incredible; the first slide so good he almost cries out into the space between their mouths. They find a rhythm and it’s amazing until a snap of his hips pulls strong hands to stop him, holding him back.

Eliot stops them with a strangled moan. “We have to stop. We can’t do this here.” He growls when Hardison tries to push forward anyway. “Come on.”

They stumble their way to Eliot’s room where he practically tackles Hardison to the bed. He’s tearing at his clothes and mouthing at the skin he reveals. But even his speed doesn’t let them get further than panting and biting kisses as they push against each other; too frantic to try anything else.

Eliot comes first but he’ll deny it and Hardison no longer has any way of proving it. He grinds their bodies together, his grip on Hardison too much and painful as he groans what could be Hardison’s name but he’s not paying attention to anything past the desperate pinch to his face. He shakes his head at the apologetic expression that Eliot gives after and snaps his hips once, twice until it’s sweet and almost unbearable and too much all at the same time. Strangely enough, he’s speechless for once and Eliot goads him into it with a hoarse, “Come on. That’s it.” As he guides him, helps him get it perfect and strokes his face, sucks at his mouth and when he comes, he’s uncoordinated and bucking beneath him. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen and he’s almost embarrassed at how much it turns him on watching Hardison’s eyes clamp shut as he pants and tries to stop canting up but he can’t because his body craves the friction. He doesn’t make it easy for him, pushing down in response until he’s biting choked off moans and whimpers and Eliot starts to feel cruel.

Hardison moves over to let Eliot lie on his back next to him. He’s too tired to say anything, to think even but Eliot’s watching him, curious. He wants to ask what he’s thinking about but sleep is already threatening to pull him under. He’s blinking slower and slower, breathing calming but he thinks Eliot’s grinning down at him. Smug.

 

 

He wakes to see Eliot staring up at the ceiling. It creeps him out a bit to think he might’ve slept here for an hour, probably drooled and Eliot saw all of it. “Do you sleep?” He smirks but says nothing. “What are you thinking about?”

Eliot blinks and Hardison thinks he’s not going to answer. He glares at the ceiling for a while longer. “Nana thinks I have a good heart.” His voice is thick but his eyes give nothing away.

“What do you think?”

“I wanna believe her but you don’t get where I am… do the kind of things I’ve done with a good heart.”

“If you wanted me to believe that, you shouldn’t have helped Roger with his cases or called me an idiot when I broke my hand. You like taking care of things. Sometimes those things are people.” He sits up and straddles Eliot’s waist, proud of the soft moan he gets in response. “If I’m good then you are too.”

Smoothing his hands along the planes of dark skin hovering over him, he shakes his head a bit. He thinks he likes seeing Hardison like this; in control. He knows how easily he could flip them over; knows how easily Hardison would let him but he doesn’t want to. He likes pretending Hardison could hold him down; it’s nice.

Hardison lifts up a hand, showing the shadow of a scar in the center of his palm. “Remember this? I can’t slice apples; I don’t know why I thought I could make lasagna.”

Eliot brightens at that, grinning up at him. He tugs the raised hand to his own chest, holds it there. “It wasn’t great but you _tried_.”

“And you did some things you’re not proud of but you’re trying to make things right now. You’re trying.” He insisted and Eliot, for the life of him can’t figure out why Hardison finds it so important. He’s made peace with this or rather accepted that he’ll never be able to make peace with it. He knows that helping Nate provide restitution for some random stranger wouldn’t make the families of the men he killed weep with forgiveness. Really he helps because he’s selfish and it makes him feel better.

“I’ve done a bit worse than screw up Italian food.”

Hardison sighed, frustrated. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”  

He shrugged in response as best he could lying down. “So I’ve been told.”

“I’ll change your mind.”

Eliot watched him for a moment, noting the determined edge to his gaze. He’d seen it before when Nate told him there was nothing they could do for the orphaned kids in that warehouse or when Eliot tried to tell him there was nothing they could do about the fertilizer bomb. Or when Nate tried to stop this happening before it really started.

He bit his lip, smiling. “I’m sure you will.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
